


Is It Real (Or Should I Go)

by ShadowsLament



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2018-01-01 00:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowsLament/pseuds/ShadowsLament
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the prompt: "Killian has just switched to wearing Storybrooke clothes (finally) and he’s waiting in the Sheriff’s office for Emma to surprise her with his new outfit when he spots Graham’s coat. He puts it on right before Emma walks in. (She is not prepared and there are Graham/Captain Swan feels.)"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is It Real (Or Should I Go)

**Author's Note:**

> Once I'd read the [prompt](http://captainswanpromptsandrecs.tumblr.com/post/65672282004/prompt-29), I couldn't let go of it. Now I'm left to keep my fingers crossed and hope I came through with the feels.
> 
> (Title borrowed from the song "Ghost" by Chelsea Lankes.)

“That’s Gr--” His name broke on Emma’s tongue; it was fragile, still, after so many days, after she had pushed down in her chest the memories caught between those two syllables: _Gra·ham_. She’d buried beneath an urgency of old knots and scars thoughts of dark eyes, softened by a tenderness she’d never known, not really, and she tried, every day, to hold them there. 

Looking away from Killian, standing unnaturally still several feet from where she had stumbled and stayed, had reached out and gripped the ledge of her desk, Emma fixed her gaze on the coat rack. On all the bare hooks, gleaming dully in the splintered sunlight slipping in through the blinds. “Why are you wearing that?”

The question lapsed into echo, then silence, absolute except for his steady breathing and her pulse, thrumming thickly in her ear. 

“The cord, love,” Killian said finally, “wrapped ‘round your wrist. It’s his?”

Her shoulders jerked, wracked by a tremor that ran down her arms and clenched her hands, turned them into fists. Emma inhaled until her chest ached with air and forced her fingers to uncurl, one by one. A rush of pins and needles, a distraction of manageable pain, as she coaxed feeling back to her cold hands. When the sensation faded, she moved to grip her wrist, hovered for one long second before cupping the boot lace. Beneath her palm, her stroking thumb, the smooth strip of leather was warm. Throat tight, Emma nodded sharply.

There was a whisper of sound, like nothing he’d make with that voice. Emma blinked her eyes open and saw the coat: held in his hand, carefully kept from brushing the ground.

“I thought,” Killian murmured, “to surprise you with this.” He gestured with the hook, sweeping it between chest and hip, drawing Emma’s attention to the dark denim he wore. The jeans fit him like the leather pants had, as though they’d been tailored for him specifically. “And to allow you the drawing of first blood. Go on then, do your--Emma?” He stepped forward. “What is it, love?”

“You--” Emma dragged wide eyes up from Killian’s vest: carmine red and textured. Graham’s was gray, sometimes brown, and simple. “You’re wearing a vest,” she mumbled. “I didn’t see it when you had on Gr--when you had the coat on.”

“Aye, well, one or so articles of new attire at a time. This one, it’s different enough,” Killian said, glancing down at the cloth. “Though it looks of the same cut as the other you’ve memory of.”

Emma swallowed, let her eyes drift shut for the second time in as many minutes. Her lashes felt heavy, the hands cradling her face light, like the phantoms she knew they were, like Graham’s had been, the last time he touched her. She understood now: Hope flared like a spark and burned like fire, but new to his world, Graham had held her with care. If she’d had a clue then, she wouldn’t have closed her eyes as he leaned in. She would have counted each of his lashes as she once had days; would have charted the angle of his nose, the curve of his lips. Instead, after, she’d shaken him. Called his name and shook, pressing permanent wrinkles into his vest.

“Emma, if--”

She flinched, and heard his boots scuff the floor. “Hook, I--” Swiping a file from her desk, a spiderweb of creases spread out from her hands towards the center of the folder. “Need to get back to work. But thanks. For the fashion sho--”

“Is it him you see standing here?”

Her heart sped, set a frantic pace. “Excuse me?”

“Am I to be Hook once more,” he said, “and not Killian, as I’ve been since our return from Neverland?”

Emma frowned. “What?”

“Just a moment ago, you--”

“Oh,” she said, and exhaled. “Right.” 

“Right,” he repeated flatly. “It would seem I’ve overstayed my welcome then.”

He lowered his head, seemed to remember the coat he still held. His shoulders rose and fell before he turned, walked the few steps to the coat rack. Gently catching the collar on the hook, Killian smoothed his hand down the right sleeve, over the creases Graham had worked into the leather. 

Emma watched, her mouth parted. She wanted to ask how the coat smelled; if its scent was fresh and woodsy as the forest, or sharp and soothing as the sea. If it was, could be, both. She wanted to say Killian, and have him hear _stay_. She remained mute as he stepped away from the coat and walked towards her; licked her lips as he passed, moving to the door. 

“His name was Graham.”

Killian stilled, shifted his head to look at her over his shoulder. “Was?”

“He’s--” Swallowing the sob gathering in her throat, Emma let go of the file, gave herself the minute it took to hit her desktop. She notched her chin up and met his eyes. “Regina killed him. Crushed his heart.”

A flicker of anguish shifted through the blue, darkening his stare. 

Emma took an unsteady step forward. “I think...” Another step, firmer. Closer. “He might have been my second chance.”

Killian stirred then, closing the distance. “Perhaps he was.” He hesitated, his hand hovering in the scant space left between them. A deep breath and he reached for her wrist. Holding her with care, his thumb found Graham’s boot lace and lightly rested there. “The third time, love, that’s the charm.”


End file.
